disabused
I learned two things at the Boiling Pot tonight. First, Harry's imaginary girlfriend is real. Woah. After two and a half years, you think you have someone all figured out. Second, apparently I don't hate seafood after all. This latter lesson came as a pleasant surprise, since disdain for seafood has been a part of my culinary identity for a long time. The attitude had its basis in the simple observation that many aquatic lifeforms require considerably more effort per bite to enjoy. The exceptions to my seafood prohibition all addressed this shortcoming: first fried fish and shrimp, then salmon steaks, and in recent years sushi.
Something happened. I think it was starting to cook more, learning to get my hands dirty in the service of some high gastronomic end. Whatever the reason, dismantling shellfish seems less like a chore now and more like a visceral act. Sitting next to Allen, I undertook a practicum in crawfish, learning to enjoy the sensation of shell crushing between my fingers. I did experience one brief pseudo-solemn moment while surveying the dismembered carcasses piled in front of me.
Another moment came along with the bill. Before I rarely ate seafood due to the effort; now I'll probably just refrain due to economics.
Something happened. I think it was starting to cook more, learning to get my hands dirty in the service of some high gastronomic end. Whatever the reason, dismantling shellfish seems less like a chore now and more like a visceral act. Sitting next to Allen, I undertook a practicum in crawfish, learning to enjoy the sensation of shell crushing between my fingers. I did experience one brief pseudo-solemn moment while surveying the dismembered carcasses piled in front of me.
Another moment came along with the bill. Before I rarely ate seafood due to the effort; now I'll probably just refrain due to economics.